


Festival of Light

by MelayneSeahawk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And so is Aziraphale, Book Elements, Crowley hates Christmas, DTIYS (sort of), Hanukkah, M/M, Show Elements, The Author Is Jewish And Back On Her Bullshit, crowley hates winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: But this year was different. The world hadn’t ended some five months ago, and Crowley and Aziraphale had spent pretty much every day together since. His mind rebelled against the idea of spending even a week away from the angel, and with the advent of things like electric heating, he didn’t even need to hide from the cold.But still. Christmas.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89





	Festival of Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khiroptera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khiroptera/gifts).



> This fic is what happens when an artist you love does a DTIYS but you (aka me) don't draw. So, fanfic!
> 
> written for [khiroptera](https://khiroptera.tumblr.com/)'s lovely [Hanukkah DTIYS](https://khiroptera.tumblr.com/post/189597563165/happy-hanukkah-dec-22-30-2019-im-absolutely)
> 
> alphaed by the ever-lovely pigsflew; not Brit-picked, but y'all should know by now that I try my best
> 
> Chag sameach, y'all!

For many years--really, since he’d settled in England for good--Crowley had made the habit of sleeping through much of the winter months. It was mostly something like hibernation, avoiding the cold, but a little bit of it was to avoid Christmas. He hadn’t been there when Yeshua was born, but he knew it had been in the spring, and while old Christmas with its irreverent revelry and topsy-turvy social norms had appealed to his troublemaking nature, the Victorians had really ruined it. He knew Aziraphale loved maxing out his miracle allotment this time of year, and Crowley left him to it.

But this year was different. The world hadn’t ended some five months ago, and Crowley and Aziraphale had spent pretty much every day together since. His mind rebelled against the idea of spending even a week away from the angel, and with the advent of things like electric heating, he didn’t even need to hide from the cold.

But still. Christmas.

“Will you be sleeping through Christmas again this year, my dear?” Aziraphale asked one afternoon in early December, when the decorating and the cheer was already in full swing and it was all making Crowley itch.

“I was considering it,” Crowley said, slightly surprised, though he knew he probably shouldn’t have been. Of course Aziraphale had noticed his absence, had noticed the lack of wiling or distractions. He’d of course not slept through the winter in the years leading up to the Apoca-nope, due to working for the Dowlings and all, and for all that time he hadn’t really thought about what might come after, what with After still being up in the air. He didn’t want to abandon Aziraphale, even if he (Crowley) wouldn’t be awake to miss him.

“You’re welcome to use the bedroom upstairs,” Aziraphale said airily, and Crowley glanced up in surprise. Even with how things had changed since the Apoca-don’t, Crowley had rarely been to the bookshop’s upstairs, and even then he hadn’t gotten further than the kitchen. He’d never asked, but only because he hadn’t wanted to push Aziraphale, still remembering a meeting in the Bentley in the 1960s. He’d hoping things would change after the Apoca-wasn’t--and they had--but not as much as Crowley had wanted.

“Sure,” Crowley said, trying to match Aziraphale’s nonchalance and probably failing. “How’s your mattress?”

“I’ve seen you nap on the ceiling, I think my mattress will be sufficient,” Aziraphale said, cheeks pinking, and Crowley laughed.

“Alright then, angel,” he said, stretching and clicking his fingers to change into pajamas.

“And this way, I can wake you for the last night of Hanukkah,” Aziraphale said brightly.

“You celebrate?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, like Crowley shouldn’t have been surprised. “That was one of my favorite miracles. I forget, were you there?”

Crowley chuckled. “I brought Yudit cheese,” he said, slightly smug. The woman had come up with the plan all by herself, but Crowley had been happy to facilitate.

“I had no idea,” Aziraphale said, chuckling. “She was a firebrand.”

“Yes, she was,” Crowley said, remembering fondly. It had taken him a long time, but he could now look back at the humans he’d befriended over the millennia and remember the good times, rather than only focusing on the fact that they were gone. “Well,” he said, standing up. “Wake me in a few weeks, angel.”

“Dream of whatever you like best,” Aziraphale called, and Crowley smiled as he mounted the steps.

***

Crowley woke to a gentle hand on his shoulder, and smiled dopily up at Aziraphale until he woke up enough to get his expression under control. The angel was also smiling tenderly at him, but Crowley tried not to read too much into it. “Time to wake up, my dear.”

“Already?” Crowley said, stretching, noticing the way Aziraphale’s eyes dropped down to look at the sliver of skin revealed where his top rode up. “Happy Hanukkah, then.”

“ _ Chag urim sameach _ ,” Aziraphale said, in an accent that probably hadn’t been heard on Earth in a few hundred years. “It’s almost sundown.” He stepped back and Crowley climbed out of bed.

“Angel, what on Earth are you wearing?” Crowley said, as he noticed Aziraphale’s outfit. He was still wearing a pale blue button-down and a tartan bow tie, but he’d traded in his vest for a frankly hideous blue sweater. It had a Hanukkah menorah emblazoned across the abdomen, dreidels on the sleeves, Stars of David decorating the hem and around the neck, with the words  _ It’s Lit! _ stitched across the chest.

“Oh, do you like it?” Aziraphale asked, brushing a hand over it. “It’s seasonal! And ever so soft.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Crowley said. He miracled himself up a dark blue button-down, in honor of the occasion, with black trousers and a loosely-knotted black tie. “Presentable?”

Aziraphale gave him a once-over and blushed prettily, and Crowley resisted a smirk. “Yes, of course, my dear. Come along!” He spun around and hustled out of the room, and Crowley let his smirk free for a moment before following him.

The menorah was set up on the table in the kitchen, surrounded by the expected detritus: candles and matches, a couple dreidels and a small pile of  _ gelt _ . Two yarmulkes, one tartan, one black, lay waiting, next to a piled-high plate covered in a napkin.

“I was able to get a decent substitute for  _ sufganiyot _ ,” Aziraphale said, whipping off the napkin and revealing jelly donuts covered in powdered sugar. “I thought we’d have just enough time to make latkes before it was time to light the candles, then we can eat them after.”

“You can make latkes?” Crowley said, slightly incredulous. Aziraphale loved food, but he wasn’t much for cooking it.

“Yes, I can,” Aziraphale said, with a stiffness that was contradicted by the twinkle in his eyes. “You’ll have to shred the potatoes now, for that remark.” Crowley miracled up a food processor and offered it to him. “No, dear boy, it tastes better if it’s been done by hand.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but did as he was told, getting to work washing and peeling the potatoes while Aziraphale worked on the onions. Despite his complaints, it was sometimes nice to do work with his hands, turning raw materials into a finished product with physical effort rather than just force of will. Silly as it was, it reminded him of making stars.

They worked together in companionable silence, only speaking when needed. Crowley shredded the peeled potatoes and drained off the water, leaving the starch behind. He took Aziraphale’s onions and mixed them together, then watch as the angel mixed in eggs, pepper, and salt, seasoning the sloppy mixture to his liking. Crowley gave the gas burner a little boost of heat (no Hellfire) and warmed the oil, and Aziraphale set to frying, making the pancakes thick in the middle with crispy edges, just the way Crowley liked them. Crowley caught the finished latkes on a stack of paper towels, removing the excess oil and setting them on a plate.

The last latke came out of the pan just as the sun had really begun to set, so Aziraphale grabbed sour cream and applesauce from the fridge and set them on the table. He placed the tartan yarmulke on his own head and passed Crowley the black one. Crowley smiled ruefully but put it on, positioning it carefully. Aziraphale positioned eight candles in the  _ hanukkiah _ , then offered the ninth and a match to Crowley. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“I don’t know if I can,” Crowley said softly, and Aziraphale’s face fell. “I definitely can’t say the blessings.”

“I’ll do it then,” Aziraphale said, with false cheer.

“It’s alright, angel.”

“No, it’s not,” Aziraphale said. “But what is, is. Let’s begin.” He took a deep breath, and began to sing:

_ Baruch atah, Adonai _

_ Eloheinu, Melech haolam, _

_ asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu _

_ l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. _

_ Baruch atah, Adonai _

_ Eloheinu, Melech haolam, _

_ she-asah nisim la’avoteinu _

_ bayamim hahem bazman hazeh. _

After the blessings, Aziraphale lit the candles in silence from left to right, then placed the  _ shamash _ in its place in the center. They stood in silence for a moment, and then Crowley decided  _ the Heaven with it, _ and began to sing, [something that wouldn’t burn his tongue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4MRS5c7TbJw):

_ Ma'oz Tzur Yeshu'ati, lekha na'eh leshabe'ah. _

_ Tikon beit tefilati, vesham toda nezabe'ah. _

_ Le'et takhin matbe'ah mitzar hamnabe'ah. _

_ Az egmor beshir mizmor hanukat hamizbe'ah. _

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly when he was done, smiling brightly and with a tear on his cheek. “That was lovely.”

“Shut up, angel,” Crowley replied, but was smiling, too. Aziraphale leaned over and kissed his cheek, taking his hand, and Crowley blushed. He was tempted to say something, but afraid it would break the spell if he did.

“I know I’ve told you to slow down in the past,” Aziraphale said quietly, looking intently at the candles. “But I think I’ve caught up with you now.” Crowley took a risk and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, and the angel squeezed back, turning to look at him at last. “I’ll still need to go slow, but I’m ready.”

“It’s a Hanukkah miracle,” Crowley said softly, and Aziraphale’s answering laughter was warm and bright.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to go into the all fiddly bits, but if you have any questions, feel free to leave a comment with any questions you might have!
> 
> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/189923683844/festival-of-light-melayneseahawk-good-omens)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
